Mistaken
by Another Me
Summary: When there is only one new immortal in town when an old friend of MacLeod gets killed, this guy must have done it, right? Of course it gets more complicated than that. A lot more complicated..........
1. Prologue

Like everybody knows I don't own the TV show "Highlander" or any of its characters. I created some new characters though, these are mine.  
  
This story takes place just after the episodes "Comes a horseman" and "Revelation 6:8".  
  
MISTAKEN  
  
Prologue  
  
The motorcycle sped with 90 mph over the wet road. Richie knew he was taking a lot of risk, maybe a little too much. Not only was the road wet, but it was also pitch-black. It was a road outside of Seacouver, one without streetlights. But Richie didn't care, he loved the feeling of speed, and because it was a relatively abandoned road he didn't run much risk to endanger the life of other (mortal) people.  
  
Richie needed his full attention to see where he was going. He had reached a woody area, so the trees blocked the little moonlight that was available. And the heavy rain didn't improve his sight either.  
  
Just when he was about to take a turn, the buzz hit him. He lost his balance for only one second, but it was one second too much. He missed the turn and went straight ahead instead. His front wheel hit a stump, which caused him to fall.  
  
Dizzy, Richie sat up, leaning against a tree. He immediately tried to locate the immortal, given that this person could be an immediate threat to his life. He didn't have to look very hard.  
  
But the immortal didn't pose a immediate threat, at least not yet. About 30 metres from where he was, a car was parked on the shoulder of the road. The car apparently had broken down, a man was working under the hood. He didn't even bother to look in Richie's direction.  
  
Knowing he was not in danger yet, Richie looked around to see what happened with his own mean of transportation. His motorcycle was only five feet on his right with the back wheel still spinning.  
  
Richie turned his attention back to the car when he heard it start. Satisfied, the other immortal got out the car, closed the hood and looked at Richie for the first time. Richie got on his feet and pulled out his sword. He was still a little wobbly but he wouldn't show it to the other man. He was pretty sure he could hear the other man mumble something like "nice welcome committee". The man took off his long raincoat and held his sword down, the tip in the muddy ground. He leaned on the sword with both hands, awaiting Richie's next move.  
  
Steady on his feet now, Richie moved to the other immortal. He could see the man better now. He was white, about six feet tall, with a muscular build and short dark hair. The sword he had in his right hand was an Ivanhoe.  
  
'You're sure you wanna do this?' the man asked. Apparently he didn't really want to fight. Richie wondered this was because he wasn't very good at it or because he just wasn't in the right mood.  
  
'Yeah, I'm sure.'  
  
In response, the man pulled his sword out of the mud and held it out horizontally in front of his body. Richie started the battle by hitting at the sword with his own.  
  
Richie knew this challenge was a big mistake pretty soon. The man was strong, fast and at least one move ahead every time. Some of his opponent's moves gave Richie the idea this battle was a piece of cake for the guy. If this was true or not, this man was without doubt an experienced swordfighter. Probably more experienced than he was.  
  
The fight didn't last long. Suddenly Richie found himself face down in the mud, without his sword in his hands. When he looked up, he saw his sword. A big problem was that he saw a pair of feet immediately next to him. He would never be able to reach the weapon.  
  
Richie gasped when he felt cold steel against his throat, cutting in his skin. He started to feel the fear; he felt shivers go up his spine and he wasn't able to move anymore.  
  
The sword was pushed upwards, forcing him to look up at the other man. The man's face was without expression, and so were his eyes. Richie cursed inwardly. Why had he challenged this man? The man had given him the change to walk away, so why didn't he? Now he was going to die. Richie was surprised he was annoyed by the fact he didn't know the name of the man who would take his head.  
  
To Richie's surprise, a smile appeared on the immortal's face. 'Not bad kid,' the man said. 'Not bad at all.' 


	2. Chapter One

Author's Notes:  
  
OK, this is my first update on this story. I mainly write original fiction on FictionPress.com. I just work on this little piece of fanfiction when I'm tired of my other stories (this happens sometimes), so I don't know how often I will update this one.  
  
BTW, this is my first Highlander fic, so please let me know how I am doing (if it's really bad I won't torture you with this, if it's really good I might be more motivated to write this). I also created some past on Methos. But I just saw the most recent seasons lately, so maybe I completely messed it up with "reality." If so: Sorry!  
  
__________  
  
1)  
  
Joe couldn't help but wondering on what place on earth Duncan MacLeod had met this woman. Mac has a lot of immortal friends, and at least half of them are kinda weird. And Anne Bridger was no exception.  
  
Mac had brought her here and had told Joe she was a friend he hadn't seen in more than hundredth years. As far as Joe knew she was about the same age as Mac. She was blonde, ugly and arrogant. She also had the most annoying laugh Joe had ever heard in his life, it actually hurt his ears. But Mac seemed to like her, they were talking and laughing as old friends.  
  
Joe cleaned some empty glasses while observing Mac getting awfully close to Anne. He wondered what would happen if Amanda would come through that door. The thought made Joe smile.  
  
When he saw both MacLeod and his counterpart freeze and turn to the door, he knew he would have another immortal guest.  
  
It was Richie, and he looked like hell. First, he was completely wet. The water was dripping off him so he was leaving a trail of water on the floor. He made Joe think of a wet dog.  
  
But his clothes showed Richie had done more than just riding through the rain. His jeans were torn and covered with mud and blood. Now Richie got closer, Joe could also see mud in his hair and on his face.  
  
'Jesus Richie, what happened to you?' Mac asked. 'Did you slip with your bike or had a challenge?' he joked.  
  
Why did Mac had to ask it so directly? Richie didn't look like he wanted a conversation, and certainly not with a for him unknown immortal present. Luckily it was already late, so nobody who shouldn't had heard this.  
  
'Both,' Richie snapped, answering Macleod's question.  
  
Joe looked at Richie again. His long experience with immortals told Joe Richie hadn't suffered a quickening. Mac would have noticed if he had too, and if he had Mac wouldn't have made that joke about a challenge.  
  
'What?' Mac asked, evidently shocked.  
  
Richie wasn't about to tell more. He sat down on a stool and Joe hurried to give him a drink. Joe noticed the shaking hands of the young immortal. He was in a bad shape.  
  
'Look Duncan, it is obvious you and your friend have a lot to talk about.'  
  
Joe was glad the woman seemed to have some tact. MacLeod was looking from Anne to Richie and back again, and eventually nodded. 'Don't leave town, we still have a lot to talk about.'  
  
'Don't worry!' She left, and Joe could feel nothing but relief. The woman had gotten on his nerves.  
  
Mac came to the bar and took the stool next to Richie, who had buried his face in his hands. 'What happened?'  
  
'Mac, give me a break will you!' Joe felt sorry for Richie. All the kid wanted was to be left alone, and than he gets questioned by the persistent Duncan MacLeod. Joe knew Mac meant it well, but the man should have more patience sometimes.  
  
Mac wasn't going to give his protégé a break. His face told Joe he wanted answers, and now. 'It was a draw,' the Scot tried.  
  
'No, it wasn't a draw. I ended face down in the mud with a sword to my throat!' Richie was agitated and Joe suspected his pride had been hurt too.  
  
'So why didn't he take your head?' MacLeod didn't get it, and he had to admit it, neither did Joe. There were not many immortals around who did take challenges, won them but didn't take their opponent's head. Joe thought it was weird and intriguing.  
  
Richie sighed. 'I don't know. He just smiled at me, said I didn't do a bad job, and told me to leave. He even gave me my sword back.'  
  
Richie had been lucky. But he clearly didn't feel that way. He had been beaten, and the thought that there was an immortal around who was better than you was not reassuring. Joe knew that losing a challenge could have a big psychological impact on immortals.  
  
'Did you know the guy?' Joe wanted to know. He was a watcher after all, and he hadn't heard about any immortal arriving in Seacouver except for Anne Bridger.  
  
Richie sighed again and shook his head. 'Nah, but I had the impression he just arrived in town.'  
  
'What did he look like?' MacLeod was gathering information about a possible adversary. It would give Joe the opportunity to get the information he needed to identify the unknown immortal.  
  
'White, athletic builds, fought with an Ivanhoe and he was good, really good.'  
  
__________  
  
Shit, shit, shit! Sometimes everything bad comes at once. First Richie almost lost his head and now this. Joe didn't know how he had to tell MacLeod, if he had to tell it at all.  
  
As soon as he would hear it, the highlander would try to find whoever did this and try to take his (or her) head. That was what the man was about, touch one of my friends and I'll touch you.  
  
If Joe didn't tell him nothing would happen. Mac would easily believe she took off without telling him. Mac would be sad, but he would get over it. But if he would find out while Joe had held this information back from him, MacLeod would never forgive him.  
  
Do not interfere. The holy rule of the watchers. Was telling Mac about this interfering The Game? He would unleash a very pissed off highlander. Unfortunately, the Watchers hadn't a rule for this because Watchers shouldn't become friends with their assignment. This left Joe with the problem, and he didn't like this at all.  
  
'This is a bar, right?'  
  
The familiar voice disturbed Joe. He cursed and closed the laptop. He had been trying to identify the mysterious immortal out of the database, and the immortal who just showed up was not supposed to see this. Not that this truly mattered, he knew everything about the database, but Joe wanted to stick to the rules by at least some extend.  
  
'A lot of immortal activity lately?'  
  
'None of your business Methos!' Joe got up and gave the 5000 years old man a not very effective shove. 'Out, now!'  
  
The old man laughed, but went to the bar area anyway. Joe got him a beer while thinking of what to think of this man. MacLeod had provided him with a brief summary of what happened in France. Eventually Methos had helped his friend fighting his fellow horsemen, but Joe still didn't understand why.  
  
'So you're back, huh?'  
  
'Evidently.' Methos took a swallow of his beer as if nothing had happened.  
  
'MacLeod knows?'  
  
'Nop.'  
  
Neither of them said anything for a while. Joe thought of Anne Bridger again. 'You know Anne Bridger?'  
  
Joe had asked it before he realized it. Methos looked up at him, he definitely hadn't expected a question like this. 'I don't know the name, but that doesn't mean I never met her,' he spoke diplomatically.  
  
Joe didn't know what to make of this answer. It could mean Methos never met her, but also he had taken her head. It was the kind of answer that raised more questions than answers.  
  
'What about this Anne Bridger?'  
  
Joe realized the question was for him. But could he just answer it? 'An old friend of Mac. She was here with him last night, and now she's dead,' Joe answered truthfully. Maybe Methos could give some advice.  
  
Methos' face was blank, Joe couldn't tell what the man was thinking. The 5000 years old man was sipping of his beer as if they had been talking about football or something irrelevant like that. 'MacLeod knows?'  
  
Joe shook his head. 'You think I should tell him?'  
  
Methos grinned. 'Are you wondering if you would be interfering The Game if you did?'  
  
The old man had a damn good intuition. 'Personally, I think it is none of my business. But I'm afraid MacLeod won't see it the same way.'  
  
'You could be right about that.' Methos emptied his bottle before continuing. 'MacLeod has a rather unique interpretation of honour and friendship sometimes.'  
  
'Tell me about it!'  
  
'Any suspects?' Methos asked.  
  
Joe almost had to laugh about Methos' choice of words. "Suspect" implied something illegal. Of course, taking someone's head was illegal by US law, but not by immortal standards. 'Apparently, there is a new immortal in town.'  
  
Joe could almost hear Methos groan inwardly. It was obvious he wasn't happy with the news. 'Apparently?'  
  
'Richie came across a stranger last night, but I can't find any sign of him in the database.'  
  
'So maybe he isn't located by the Watchers yet,' the ancient immortal suggested.  
  
'According to Richie the guy was a good swordfighter. He must have fought a challenge before.'  
  
'If he was so good, why is Richie still alive?'  
  
'He just didn't take Richie's head.'  
  
Methos shook his head in amazement. 'Lucky Richie.'  
  
'Yeah, you could say that.'  
  
'And now you think this mystery immortal killed Bridger?'  
  
Joe could hear the unbelief in Methos' voice, and he perfectly understood why. He let Richie live, why would he kill Anna Bridger? 'I don't know, but there are not much possibilities here.'  
  
'Bridger's Watcher didn't see anything?'  
  
Joe sighed. He was not supposed to talk with Methos about these things. But he already knew everything about the Watcher organization, so what was the harm. 'Bridger's Watcher lost track of her an hour before it happened. When he found her back...'  
  
Joe got Methos another beer. The immortal drank it slowly and seemed to be thinking. The silence between them was heavy and light at the same time. They were occupied with the same problem now and would probably agree on it, but the events from a couple of weeks ago were still hanging between them. Joe wondered how things were between Methos and Mac. Probably worse than between Methos and himself. Joe had the luck he hadn't been personally involved.  
  
'You gotta tell MacLeod,' Methos suddenly said.  
  
'Tell me what?'  
  
Joe jumped when he heard MacLeod's voice. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't seen the Highlander come in.  
  
Damn Methos! He had felt MacLeod coming and when he was close enough to hear it, he had told Joe what to do. There was no way he couldn't tell Mac what was going on, Mac simply wouldn't leave before he had.  
  
But he still had some time to think of what exactly he would say. MacLeod stared at Methos, who wasn't impressed and took a swallow of his beer. Those two had something to figure out first.  
  
'When did you get back in Seacouver?'  
  
Mac's tone was accusing, although Joe doubted he would have appreciated it if Methos had shown up at his dojo.  
  
'Two days back.'  
  
'And you're doing here...what exactly?'  
  
'Having a drink,' Methos simply stated. 'This is a bar you know.'  
  
MacLeod nodded and sat down. Joe handed him a Scotch and decided to take one himself too. He might need it.  
  
'She's gone.'  
  
Joe had no idea if MacLeod meant she left or if he already knew she was dead, so he just nodded.  
  
'She had promised me to stay in town, but she left after all!'  
  
Uh-Oh! He didn't know yet.  
  
'After all these years we see each other again...'  
  
'Mac?'  
  
'...and then she leaves immediately. I thought...'  
  
'Mac?' Joe tried for the second time, but he wasn't listening.  
  
'...we were friends, but she doesn't even stay one day. I...'  
  
Joe looked at Methos for help on this one. Methos didn't seem eager to help, but did it anyway. 'MacLeod, just listen to Joe for a minute will you!'  
  
That finally got his attention. 'What?'  
  
'She didn't leave without telling you.'  
  
'What do you mean, did she leave a message?'  
  
Joe sighed. 'No, she is dead.'  
  
'But..,' Mac began. He got up and started pacing up and down the room. He was upset, as expected. 'But who did it?'  
  
This was the moment Joe had hoped wouldn't come. 'I don't know.'  
  
'What do you mean you don't know. You record right, that's what the Watchers do. Her Watcher must have seen it!'  
  
'No Mac, he didn't see it. He had lost her after she left this bar.'  
  
Frustrated, MacLeod put up his hands in the air. 'Who are in town?'  
  
Joe looked at Methos, who returned a pitiful look. This was exactly what Joe had thought would happen, something he didn't like at all. 'Mac, I can't...'  
  
'You can't help me? Come one Joe! Just tell me if there's someone in Seacouver I should know about.'  
  
Joe sighed. He didn't want to help MacLeod every time, but he usually did it anyhow because MacLeod was his best friend. And there was nothing to hide anyway. 'There is no one, just you, Richie and apparently Methos.'  
  
'But what about the mystery immortal Richie encountered yesterday?'  
  
'Still a mystery Mac, still a mystery.'  
  
__________  
  
Methos parked his car and grabbed the three bags with groceries from his passenger seat. He entered the apartment building, walking through the door his neighbor held for him. He had to force himself to smile and thank the elderly lady.  
  
Truth was, he was not in the mood to laugh or smile. In fact, he was very angry with himself. He had forced Joe to talk to MacLeod, but he hadn't told him. It would have been the easiest way if he had told it today, when he told Mac on a later occasion he would accuse him of trying to hide it. This in fact was true, if it was up to him MacLeod would never find out.  
  
Methos sighed. Life wasn't easy, and he could know because he was around for a while.  
  
Another difficult thing was a lock. Especially when you are holding three grocery bags. He jiggled with the key, trying to get it to fit. A long time ago, when locks weren't invented yet, life was so much easier.  
  
His mood didn't get any better when the buzz hit him. Why could MacLeod never let something be. This was exactly why he hadn't told MacLeod he was back in town, he would never be able to get rid off the highlander in an acceptable period of time.  
  
'Just leave me alone!' Not very subtle, but he might get the point. He just hoped the neighbors wouldn't complain to the landlord.  
  
Not to his expectations, he heard someone snicker. That was not MacLeod!  
  
He spun around to see a man lean against the wall of the hallway. The man wore neat clothes and looked like he just had a haircut. Methos knew the long black coat was concealing a sword.  
  
The man smiled. 'You know Methos, more than two thousand years and you didn't change a bit!'  
  
__________  
  
Constantinople, 1097 AD  
  
Methos groaned. He really hated waiting. And certainly when being without a clue when the waiting would be over.  
  
Armed forces coming from whole Europe were gathered in Constantinople. They were about to liberate Jerusalem from the Muslim control. Pope Urbanus II had called up the people of Christian Europe to save the holy places.  
  
Methos looked at the red cross on his right shoulder. When drunk he had decided to join, now he couldn't understand why. Hadn't he seen enough wars already?  
  
But there was no way back now. He sat at a camp fire with twenty other men. Actually not exactly with them, he and Menes sat apart from the rest. They sat in the dark, staring at the dark water about hundredth yards away from them.  
  
There was no sign of war yet. They were camping outside Constantinople, waiting for permission to get over the Bosporus. Methos understood he local king didn't allow it, for obvious reasons. Nobody wants a foreign army on land you claim to be yours.  
  
'Politics!'  
  
Methos' companion laughed about his expression of frustration. 'Relax.' The word had been spoken in Italian, the language they were supposed to speak being Italians. Which they were not, but this couldn't be heard by their accent. Over decennia they had become skilled in how to learn a language relatively good and fast.  
  
'Come on!' Methos got to his feet and pointed at the water. 'That's all, so what's the big problem!'  
  
Menes laughed again. 'Like you said before, politics.'  
  
Methos sat down again, still grumbling. 'You can be so damn patient.'  
  
Menes smiled. 'Patience is a good quality.'  
  
Methos knew the younger man was right. He usually was patient, but just not today. He had signed up for this damn army, now he wanted to fight so he would be done with it.  
  
'You don't want to fight, do you?'  
  
Before Methos could answer "No", he felt the buzz. A glance at Menes told him his friend felt it too.  
  
'Then I'll take you,' the newly arrived said to Menes. The man apparently had heard his last words.  
  
It wasn't a big surprise. They had known about the other immortals presence and had been waiting for the first contact. His name was Phillip Le Puy, a French knight. It looked like he wasn't interested in a further acquaintance.  
  
Menes reluctantly got to his feet. Methos knew he wasn't fond of challenges. But that didn't mean he wasn't good at it. Phillip Le Puy had a reputation though, he was supposed to be the best French swordfighter. He had this reputation with both the immortals and the "normal" people. It wouldn't be an easy fight, but Methos wasn't worried about the outcome.  
  
Menes turned to Methos before he followed the other immortal. 'See you tomorrow morning then.'  
  
__________  
  
'Menes?' Methos couldn't believe who was standing there, he hadn't expected to see this man ever again. 'I thought...'  
  
'I am not that easy to kill, of all people you should know that.'  
  
Methos knew all about that, he had lost their battle. 'But why didn't you show up!'  
  
Menes hadn't returned to the camp. Of course the army left exactly that day, after more than half a year of waiting. The timing couldn't be worse. Methos had found out Phillip Le Puy was missing too, so he still had some hope. He had stayed behind to look for either one of them, but had never found anyone.  
  
'I wasn't dead, but not very healthy either.'  
  
Methos was thrilled and relieved to see his old friend again. They had so much to talk about. But a couple of questions had to be answered now, it were questions of life and death. 'How did you find me?'  
  
After hesitating for a moment, Menes pulled up his sleeve. A very familiar symbol had been tattooed on his wrist. 'That wasn't very difficult, "Adam Pierson." Not difficult at all.' 


	3. Chapter Two

2)  
  
Richie sat on the floor, watching his friend and mentor handling his katana. MacLeod was doing some complicated fighting exercises. Richie followed every move he made to establish if he could do that too. He realized he had to practice a lot more if he ever wanted to become as good as the highlander.  
  
Richie had walked in the dojo about fifteen minutes ago. He had wanted to talk to Mac, but the man's facial expression told Richie he shouldn't interrupt his workout. Mac was in a very bad mood, he would have a short fuse right now. He wondered if Methos had known this.  
  
After what seemed to have been an eternity, Mac finally put his sword down and took a seat at one of the benches at the other end of the room. He looked at Richie for the first time today and gave him a weak smile.  
  
Richie tried to smile back. 'Hey.'  
  
Mac got to his feet again and dried his sweating body with a towel. 'What are you doing here?'  
  
Maybe just dropping by a friend, Richie thought. He didn't say it though, Mac wouldn't fall for the lie. 'Methos called. He was wondering what you were doing.'  
  
'Are you Methos' messenger boy now?'  
  
'Oh come on!' This wasn't fair and Mac knew it. 'What's wrong anyway?'  
  
'He didn't tell you that?' The Scot didn't believe him, but it was true. Methos had told Richie there was some situation, and that Macleod wasn't taking it very well. If he could stop by to make sure he was still in town?  
  
Richie hadn't even known the ancient immortal had his number. But he had done as asked, curious what was going on. 'No Mac, Methos didn't tell me anything. He just told me to stop by and hung up on me.'  
  
'Sounds like Methos,' Mac snorted.  
  
'If you say so.' Richie got to his feet too, his neck started hurting from looking up. 'So what's going on?'  
  
'Remember the woman who was with me the other night?'  
  
He wouldn't be able to forget that night. Especially the fight, but he also vividly remembered his shock when there had been another to him unknown immortal in the bar. 'You mean the immortal one?'  
  
'Yes. She's dead.'  
  
Dead? That definitely explains the bad mood. 'How?' Realizing that was not the best way to put it, there is only one way, Richie said it different. 'I mean, who was it?'  
  
Mac gave him a meaningful look. 'According to Joe, there are no other immortals in town.'  
  
Richie knew that wasn't true, he had felt the man's sword against his throat. But it didn't make any sense this man killed Mac's friend. The man had let him live, so why kill the woman? But on the other hand, who did it if it hadn't been that guy. It hadn't been him or Mac, and by what he knew about Methos it was unlikely the old man had done it.  
  
Anyway, Mac believed it had been the immortal he had encountered the same night. If this was not true, the other man would say so. 'The watchers don't know him?'  
  
Mac was changing clothes. He didn't even look up while answering. 'No.'  
  
So that meant Joe wouldn't be able to help him. 'So what are you gonna do, walk around town in the hope you'll accidentally run into him? Assuming he is still in Seacouver.'  
  
Dressed, Mac put on his coat and took his katana from the floor. 'Optimistic, are you?'  
  
Come on, what else could he do? 'Realistic.'  
  
Mac gave him an angry look and walked to the door. Why couldn't he just say where he was going, Richie hated to ask. 'Where are you going?' he asked anyway.  
  
Mac turned and gave him a fake grin. 'Walk around town to see if I accidentally run into him.'  
  
Great, just great! 'Be careful not to lose your head!' Richie yelled after him. He doubted it would help, but at least he had tried.  
  
__________  
  
'Joe Dawson?'  
  
Joe looked up to the man who called his name. He stood only three feet away, which made Joe ashamed he hadn't seen him come in. The man was in his mid-thirties and although his long coat was hiding most of his body, he had an athletic appearance. The man's attitude made Joe believe he was here on business; working for the city or a door-to-door salesman.  
  
'Yes, can I help you?'  
  
The man laughed. 'You weren't that friendly over the phone.' He offered Joe his hand, which made it possible for Joe to see the tattoo. 'I'm Michael de Wind.'  
  
Bridger's Watcher, Joe realized. He had never met the guy, he had never been to Amsterdam, the city Bridger used to live. He also didn't look like a watcher, his clothing was too neat.  
  
'Joe accepted the hand, although he was really angry with this man. He gestured him to come to the back and Randy to take the bar. 'I had no reason to be nice, still don't.'  
  
De Wind followed Joe and loosened his coat. 'I understand you're not happy.'  
  
Joe slowly lowered himself on his chair. The man seemed to regret what happened and Joe didn't know what exactly had happened, so he decided to give the man a chance. 'Tell me what happened.'  
  
De Wind sighed. 'My car broke down.'  
  
Joe remembered that night had been a rainy one, Richie had been soaked, so that wouldn't have been pleasant.  
  
'When I finally found her back, it had taken me an hour to fix my car, she was dead.'  
  
'How did you find her then?' Joe wondered.  
  
'Pure coincidence.' The other Watcher took a seat. 'I had completely lost her so I returning to my hotel. On my way I spotted the quickening and I decided to take a look.'  
  
'You recognized a quickening on a rainy and stormy night?'  
  
'It was open terrain.'  
  
'Still, you were lucky.'  
  
De Wind shrugged. 'If you can missing your assignment last fight after following her for nine years call lucky.'  
  
That was a point Joe completely understood. Following an immortal was something as a life's work. Missing "the final" is sour.  
  
'Do you have any idea who it was?' Bridger's Watcher asked. 'I mean, you must know the local immortals.'  
  
'That's the weird thing,' Joe answered. 'There is no one in town who should be considered.'  
  
'And no new arrivals?'  
  
'Just your girl.' That was not completely true, Methos had also arrived, but there was no way Joe was going to tell this to this guy.  
  
'Than we might never know.' A somber observation, which could very well be true. But there was one joker in the game: Duncan MacLeod.  
  
'Maybe.' Joe got up, there was nothing left to say. 'Going back to Amsterdam?'  
  
'In a couple of days.' The man smiled. 'Although I could have picked the wrong city, I really need some vacation.'  
  
Joe sat down behind the bar again. 'Seacouver is nice, if you know the right places.'  
  
The man did not answer but took a look over his shoulder. Joe saw Riche come in and immediately look at the Watcher. De Wind turned back to Joe. 'I hope to find out.'  
  
The man seemed rushed now; he immediately walked to the door. He wanted to pass Richie, but the young immortal stopped. 'What are you doing here?'  
  
What the hell was Richie doing? Joe didn't get it, yet, but he was determined to find out what was going on.  
  
'What do you care?' the Dutchman replied. He stared down Richie, who in the end stepped aside to let the other man pass. Richie watched the man until he was completely out of sight.  
  
'What was that about Rich?'  
  
'What was he doing here?' Richie asked a question on his own, avoiding Joe's question.  
  
Joe didn't know if it was a good idea to answer that one, Richie was an immortal. But the younger man's facial expression told Joe it was important. 'He was Bridger's Watcher.'  
  
'Watcher?' Richie was stunned.  
  
'Yeah, why?' Joe was really curious now.  
  
'That was the immortal I ran into the other day.'  
  
__________  
  
Menes cursed. This was a typical case of bad luck. His time with the Watchers was over now. He had known he wouldn't be able to keep his cover for long, but he had hoped he would have been a Watcher for a little while longer. Too bad he couldn't, but he could deal with it. He had done that for three thousand years.  
  
Methos had told him an immortal named Duncan MacLeod was after him for Anne's death. On the question on what grounds MacLeod based his suspicion his old friend had answered MacLeod was the mentor of Richie Ryan, a young immortal. He hadn't needed Methos to finish, Richie Ryan must have been the biker he encountered the night Anne Bridger had died.  
  
Before his visit to the bar, Menes had decided he should disappear. He wasn't afraid of MacLeod, he wasn't afraid of anyone, but he had wanted to avoid a fight with a friend of Methos. But there was no reason he should hurry his departure, at least he had thought there wasn't. He could go to the congress he was supposed to visit, the same congress Anne was supposed to visit too but now couldn't because of obvious reasons, and solve the matter with the Watchers.  
  
But to do this, he had to go to Joe Dawson, the most important Watcher in town who had MacLeod as his assignment. From rumors Menes knew he was close to MacLeod, but Dawson couldn't know he was immortal so he wouldn't run much risk. Of course there always was a chance he would run into MacLeod, but he had thought this was unlikely to happen. But he absolutely hadn't counted on the fact he would run into a man who "knew" him: Richie Ryan.  
  
If Dawson was close to MacLeod, he probably would be close to the student too. Menes could kill himself for not realizing this. Now he had been made. Dawson had noticed Ryan's reaction to him and would ask the man what was going on. Ryan would probably tell him, and even worse, MacLeod. It would be a matter of time before the immortal would be on his back. The only good thing was that Menes hadn't told Dawson what he was really doing in this town and where he was staying. But he thought it wouldn't be hard to find out, certainly not for an experienced Watcher as Joe Dawson.  
  
Now Menes was stuck with a problem. If MacLeod would keep believing he killed his friend he could follow Menes all over the planet for centuries. And now he wouldn't be able to use the Watcher records to avoid contact with other immortals.  
  
The best solution would be if he could convince MacLeod he didn't do it. But that probably wouldn't be as simple as it sounds. Maybe Methos could help. But Menes didn't have a good feeling about that. Methos hadn't told him everything about this situation. His old friend was a great if not the best liar but they went so far back Menes had caught it. At the time he had thought it wouldn't be important. Guess he had been wrong. And now he couldn't completely trust his old buddy, Methos seemed to have his own agenda.  
  
So he had to solve this on his own. He would leave Seacouver tomorrow. But first he would do a final attempt to make this problem disappear. Because attack is the best form of defense, right?  
  
__________  
  
'Geez MacLeod, take it easy!'  
  
But Duncan wasn't going to take it easy. As soon as Methos had opened his door he had grabbed the old man's collar and pushed him inside the apartment. Still holding him, he kicked the door shut and forced Methos to sit on the couch. 'You need Richie to do your dirty work now huh?' Duncan growled.  
  
Methos gave him the perfect innocent look. 'Oh come one MacLeod! You were some kind of unguided missile. I had hoped Richie would get some sense into you.'  
  
'And you couldn't do that yourself?' Duncan asked. He didn't believe a word of what the old man said. Methos often had his own reasons for things, bringing him into contact with Kronos so he could fight him was only one example.  
  
'I was busy.'  
  
'You were busy!' Duncan couldn't believe it. 'Doing what?'  
  
'Cleaning.'  
  
Only now MacLeod noticed the vacuum cleaner and the bowl with water. Methos wasn't lying, but it was no excuse for sending Richie over.  
  
Duncan was just thinking if putting his katana on Methos' throat would help him getting answers when Methos' phone rang.  
  
'Do you mind?' Methos asked. Duncan let go off him so he could answer his phone.  
  
'Adam Pierson.' Duncan noticed Methos glanced at him. 'Yeah, got it. See you in ten minutes Joe.'  
  
Methos scooped his jacket from a chair and walked to the door. 'Are you coming?'  
  
Sometimes Duncan really couldn't believe that guy.  
  
___________  
  
'So, what's up?' Methos said cheerfully.  
  
There couldn't be a bigger contrast between those two immortals. Methos seemed relaxed, cheerful and not worried about anything. Mac looked worried and pissed as hell. Joe thought that when he had told them what he knew, Mac would be even angrier and Methos would be worried.  
  
Joe pulled four beers and put them on a tray. Richie took it while Joe rounded the counter. The other three men were already seated when he finally reached the table. This was one of the things Joe disliked, but had learned to live with.  
  
Richie gave him a look. After Michael de Wind had left, Joe had dug into the guys files. Richie had been there, so he knew what he was about to say.  
  
'I got paid a visit by Anne Bridger's Watcher, Michael de Wind.' The fact he had named the man's name should ring a bell with MacLeod, because usually he would never reveal a Watcher's name.  
  
'You must know him,' Joe said, looking in Methos' direction. 'According to his file, he was a friend of Don's.'  
  
Methos flinched, which almost made Joe smile. Usually it was hard to get a reaction from the old man. Now he had something on Methos, something MacLeod wouldn't appreciate when he found out his friend had been hiding it. 'Of course I met him,' Methos reluctantly replied. He probably realized there was no point in denying it.  
  
'And you knew he was Bridger's Watcher,' Joe continued.  
  
Methos silently nodded, admitting it was true.  
  
'What is the point Joe?' Mac was getting impatient.  
  
'Come on Methos, you tell him.' Joe it was mean, but he didn't feel sorry for Methos at all. The man had also lied to him.  
  
Methos sighed. 'Michael de Wind, as you call him, is an immortal.'  
  
'The very same immortal I encountered that night,' Richie added.  
  
'What!' It was impossible to tell who was on his feet faster, Methos or MacLeod. But Methos didn't succeed in getting away from the other man. MacLeod grabbed him by his pullover and violently slammed him against the counter. 'You knew who it was and you didn't tell me?'  
  
Methos shook his head. 'Mac, it wasn't him!'  
  
'You can't know that!' Mac dropped Methos on the floor (this did make Joe feel sorry for him, it looked like it hurt) and left the bar.  
  
Methos got to his feet and gave Joe a nasty look. 'Thanks a lot Joe! Thanks a lot.'  
  
'Come on Methos! You should have told him,' Joe said accusingly.  
  
Methos nodded. 'I know.'  
  
'What makes you so convinced it wasn't him anyway?' Richie asked. Joe realized Richie really wanted to know everything about this guy, the man had beaten him after all.  
  
'Would you believe me if I would accuse MacLeod?' the older immortal answered the question with another question.  
  
That wasn't fair. Joe knew Mac and Richie weren't just friends, and Methos knew this too. 'That's different!'  
  
Methos laughed scornfully. 'What do you know about that!'  
  
Methos grabbed his coat, but made time to finish his beer. When he was gone he had left two confused men. Joe sighed. What a mess!  
  
__________  
  
Duncan was furious. He could Methos keep such a thing from him. Sure, he had always known the old man had his secrets. And a couple of weeks ago he had been confronted with the man's dark past with the four horsemen. But he had never thought the 5000 years old would let him down on something like this.  
  
It had taken him all his self-control not to take his katana and teach him a lesson. But Methos would know what he had done, Duncan would show him sometime in the future.  
  
He sped through traffic, back to his dojo. Duncan knew he was upset, too upset to be able to think straight. Maybe a demanding workout would calm him down. Exhaustion can do such things to you.  
  
He parked his car and made his way to his place. Just when he had entered the building, he felt the buzz. Duncan immediately froze. He had just left both Methos and Richie, and he had probably broken the speed record from Joe's to his place, so it definitely wasn't one of them. SO who was it?  
  
Amanda? It was the only person he knew who could show up unexpectedly like this. But the last time he had seen her was in France, and she had told him she intended to stay there for a while. This made Duncan believe it wasn't her.  
  
And if it was her anyway, she would forgive him for this. He firmly took hold of his katana and resolutely entered the dojo. 'I'm Duncan MacLeod from the clan MacLeod!'  
  
The man waiting inside leaned untroubled against the wall. He grinned, evidently not impressed by the little performance. 'So I was told.' 


	4. Chapter Three

I had lost interest in Highlander, mainly because it wasn't on TV anymore. But I recently finally saw _"End Game"_, which renewed my interest in Highlander and made me decide to finallyfinish this story. It is nothing like I had first inteded to write, but at least it will have an ending now.

3)

MacLeod immediately knew who this had to be. Michael de Wind. MacLeod wondered how the other immortal had found him. And what the man wanted from him. The fact a possible hostile immortal had found him this easy was quite disturbing.

He eyed the man from top to bottom. He was pretty much what Richie had described him: a well-build Caucasian male who clearly took good care of himself. He seemed in good shape and his physical appearance was neat. Although he was on foreign or even enemy territory, he appeared to be completely comfortable and confident. Not someone to dismiss as unimportant, at least not by appearance.

MacLeod reduced the distance between them and halted halfway the dojo. 'Michael de Wind, I assume?'

'You're well informed.' De Wind left his leaning pose and stood up straight, his legs apart. A pose which would allow him a fast reaction, MacLeod unintentionally noted. 'But I guess that could be expected from someone well acquainted with his Watcher.'

That was it, MacLeod realized, that was how De Wind had found him so easily. He had access to the Watcher database! 'You're well informed as well.'

The other immortal frowned. 'What do you mean?'

MacLeod produced his sword and threw his long coat out of their way. 'You found me pretty fast.'

De Wind hadn't moved an inch yet, apparently unmoved by the sight of the katana. 'You're in the phone book,' was the smooth reply.

'So you were looking for me?' MacLeod asked with a hint of menace in his voice. The man had killed his friend and now came for him, so although he stayed polite he did not have to remain friendly.

'Not at all,' the Dutchman replied. He now got hold of his own sword, but still didn't attempt to use it. For a man who came for him, De Wind was fairly reluctant to fight. 'I heard you were looking for me for something I didn't do.'

MacLeod ignored the last phrase: if he really had nothing to do with her death, he would have disappeared. 'So you decided attack is the best defense?' he replied, closing in on his adversary.

The other man took firm hold of his own weapon in response. 'Exactly.'

'One last thing,' MacLeod said, raising his sword. 'Are you sure you can bring yourself to taking my head?' he spoke, referring to Richie. The remark was meant to piss him off.

But the only reply was a faint smile.

MacLeod launched his first attack: a technique meant to disarm his opponent. The Dutchman blocked it seemingly effortless and dodged the following blow.

Now it was the perfect moment for a counter attack, but the Scotsman found his rival not to take the opportunity. This could make someone to underestimate him, but MacLeod would not let himself be tricked like that. Richie had said he had been good, and you had to be a good fighter to defeat Anne Bridger.

MacLeod delivered a combination which ended with a low strike to the stomach. Again his opponent just moved away from his katana. But MacLeod knew the other man would attack soon, because the Dutchman was still positioned in the corner, which was usually not a very nice position to be in.

Yet still the attack came as a surprise. As came the way how. De Wind put his Ivanhoe against the katana and swiftly pushed forward with much force. MacLeod refused to move away, which caused them to stand less then an inch apart, the swords crossed between them. They locked eyes. MacLeod did not see any anger or hate, just concentration.

Instead of stepping backwards, De Wind kicked hard at his legs. MacLeod could only prevent falling by jumping backwards, which brought him slightly off balance. This was an advantage De Wind used: he launched a fast combination MacLeod could hardly block.

After exchanging several more combinations, they circled around each other like predators around their prey, looking for an opening in the other's defense. MacLeod was now convinced he was dealing with an experienced and skilled swordfighter. The man had not yet made any mistakes. He had failed to take all his chances, but MacLeod had the hunch the man had done that on purpose for whatever reason. Maybe as a proof of his skill, or just to test his opponent.

'_Excuse me?'_

MacLeod first looked at De Wind, and when he nodded slightly, at the intruder. It was a man in a cheap suit, accompanied by a woman who was dressed only slightly better. MacLeod recognized the type straight away.

Police.

Just wonderful.

'I am sorry to break up your exercise,' the man apologized. That was the advantage of a dojo, a swordfight wasn't seen as out of the ordinary. 'Is one of you Duncan MacLeod?'

'I am,' MacLeod answered with false indifference. He was not happy with the interruption, and also a bit worried. What would they want from him?

'We are detectives O'Brien and Martens. Could we talk to you for a minute?' the woman asked. She turned to De Wind. 'In private,' she added icy.

The Dutchman shrugged. He retrieved his coat from the bench he had placed it on, and walked to the door, clearly intending to leave.

'We will meet again,' MacLeod said coldly after him.

De Wind stopped and turned around to face him. 'Maybe,' he spoke. 'Goodbye.'

MacLeod inwardly groaned as he faced the cops. What would it be this time?'

* * *

'Joe, cops!' Richie cried out. 

Joe had already caught sight of the two. He and Richie had been watching MacLeod's place from a safe distance, knowing the highlander would not appreciate what they were doing. Joe had originally wanted to go alone, as a Watcher, but Richie had insisted in accompanying him because he wanted to help. They had decided not to disturb MacLeod yet, because they didn't know what he was doing and whether he was alone or not. All they knew was that he was here, because his car was parked at its usual spot.

'Now what?'

Richie shrugged. The young man didn't even bother to speculate.

'Joe…'

Someone left the dojo. It wasn't one of the cops, but a man Joe had not expected to be here. Michael de Wind. Had he come here to challenge MacLeod? 'At least there was no quickening,' Joe mused. He only realized he had said it out loud when Richie looked at him.

'He didn't kill me, so why would he kill Mac?'

A question Joe was not able and willing to answer. Couldn't because he didn't know, and didn't want to because he could think of a few options Richie wouldn't like.

Michael de Wind crossed the street. Joe could only hope he wouldn't come their way, because the Dutchman would inevitably spot them and Joe had no idea how he would react. Joe didn't really want to find out.

De Wind suddenly froze and began scanning the area. Joe recognized the behavior from the many moments he had spent with MacLeod; he felt the presence of another immortal. Richie!

'Is he aware of you?' Joe asked rushed, because a positive answer meant they had to do something.

'No,' Richie replied to his astonishment. 'I can't sense him yet.'

The mystery was sold as soon as it had appeared. 'Methos,' Joe murmured when he noticed the old man approaching Michael de Wind from the other side. He might have been doing the same as they were: watching MacLeod. In that case Methos and Richie had only just failed to sense each other.

Joe wondered what Methos was up to. His presence was remarkable, because Methos usually shied away from contact with any immortal. Unless it was a friend of his.

* * *

'Found what you were looking for?' Methos asked his old friend. 

'Not really,' Menes answered coldly. 'But it was a good fight.'

Oh, damn! Now not only MacLeod wanted Menes' head, it was now a mutual thing. This was not good, because Methos wasn't ready to suffer the loss of another friend. Not again. His three fellow horsemen, together with Alexa, were enough loss for at least a decade.

'Do me a favor,' Methos requested. 'Don't go looking for him again.'

'Is that why you sent those cops?'

Menes had looked through it. Not surprisingly, given they knew each other for so long. 'What makes you think I have anything to do with them?'

The denial was a mere formality, they both knew better. Methos could fool MacLeod, sometimes, but Menes was another story. Menes, or Michael as his name was now, apparently decided this was where their conversation should end, because he unlocked his car. Methos grabbed the other man's arm. 'Please stay away from him.'

'Or what?' Menes said while freeing his arm. 'Are you going to stop me?'

'Maybe.' This answer was meant to show his friend he was serious about this, that MacLeod was important to him. Looking at his face, the message came across.

Before any of them could continue, they sensed the presence of another immortal. Methos turned to see if it was MacLeod coming out his dojo, but he was looking at Richie Ryan instead. MacLeod's student was in the company of Joe Dawson. Methos faced Menes, who didn't look too pleased with the situation.

Apparently they had decided to split up, because Richie entered the dojo while Joe came their way. Methos thought Menes might want to leave, but seemingly he had decided to wait for what would come out of this, because he wasn't getting ready to get in his car.

'Adam,' Joe said, careful not to mention his real name in public. 'Michael,' he continued. 'I wasn't aware of the fact you two knew each other.'

Joe was playing dumb, because Joe had mentioned the possibility himself and Methos hadn't done much to hide it. What Joe couldn't know was how well they knew each other. Well, maybe this was the time to give some hints to let Joe know this wasn't just anybody. 'We go back a long time.'

Methos watched Menes, who had suddenly decided the traffic in Seacouver was very interesting. The message was clear: you'll deal with him, I'll listen if something interesting comes up.

'Mister De Wind,' Joe began formally to attract Michael's attention. 'Previously, I would have welcomed any friend of Adam, but since a month or so I'm not so sure anymore.'

Damn him! Why did he have to bring that up? Well, Methos had to admit it was something that could affect their relation permanently. But still, it was not very nice of him.

Menes looked at him now, he wanted an explanation for Joe's remark. One word would do, since Menes knew everything about them. 'Kronos.'

Or, looking at Menes' dark frown, maybe one word was not enough after all. 'They're all dead now, thanks to MacLeod.'

Menes nodded thoughtfully, not unpleased by this news because Kronos wasn't exactly a close friend of his. 'Good.'

Methos was aware Joe had carefully observed their exchange, probably to get an idea of what "Michael" was really like. Maybe he would see the fact Menes didn't like Kronos as a positive thing.

'Well, "Adam",' Menes began. The sarcasm was not to be missed. 'I'll leave you alone now.'

'Where are you going, "Michael"?' Methos wanted to know. He hoped Menes would give clarity on the request he had done.

'My hotel.'

Just great! Methos watched him drive away. He hadn't even bothered to hide his whereabouts. Menes was just like MacLeod, waiting for the trouble instead of avoiding it. They were a perfect match, also in moral standards. Why hadn't they met under different circumstances?

* * *

'I am sorry, but I have no idea who you're talking about.' 

Richie found MacLeod in a heated discussion with the cops, trying to convince them of something. The fact Mac wasn't very calm didn't seem to help him now, or they just didn't listen.

'Richie,' Mac said as soon as he "noticed" him (of course they had already sensed each other). 'He often helps me out,' MacLeod explained to the officers. 'Maybe he knows your guy.'

The woman showed him a picture of a complete stranger. Richie was sure he had never seen the man before, he would know because he had a clearly visible scar on his face. 'Should I know him?'

'According to a witness, he comes here sometimes,' the male detective told him.

'I would know if I ever saw that man,' Richie said. 'His face is easy to recognize.'

'Alright.' The cops seemed to be convinced now, or at least they gave up. 'Thank you for your cooperation.'

MacLeod already ignored them before they were gone. 'They had an awful timing,' MacLeod said softly so the leaving cops wouldn't hear him.

'I know,' Richie interrupted him. 'He was still outside…..with Methos.'

'What!' Richie followed the highlander outside. MacLeod was going at war, and Methos' face showed clearly recognition of MacLeod's state of mind. The other immortal was gone though, which was good for that man and Mac, but probably not for Methos.

'MacLeod!' Joe almost yelled to get his attention. He also tried to hold him back, something thedisabled man of course couldn't handle. Richie decided to help, before MacLeod would say or do anything he shouldn't in public.

Methos did something unexpected: he grabbed MacLeod's shoulders, forcing him to look at him. 'MacLeod, he is a friend. And I don't want to choose between friends.'

The old man let go off MacLeod, who stared at him now. The pain was clearly visible in Methos' eyes. 'I won't choose.'

* * *

'Joe.' 

Joe's head shot up when he recognized the voice. Methos. Joe hadn't expected to see him in his bar so soon again. He had thought the old man had gone to see his friend or would have left town. 'Missed me already?'

There came no reply.

'What do you want?' Joe asked, realizing the old man wouldn't come here for nothing.

'Beer.'

Joe provided this, waiting for what would come. Methos took his time though, he slowly drank his beer in silence.

'MacLeod is after him now?'

'Yes,' Joe answered reluctantly. There was just no point in hiding it. They were silent again for a while. Joe wondered again why Methos had shown up. Maybe he wanted to talk.

'May I ask you something?' Joe finally asked when he had gathered his courage. Methos looked up frowning, and then nodded slowly.

'Who is this guy?'

Methos handed him his glass, needing more alcohol before he continued. It seemed to be hard for him, talking about his past, because several deep sighs left his mouth. ' His name is Menes.'

­­­

* * *

_Somewhere in Eurasia, about 500 BC _

Nights on the steppe were cold, very cold. Methos pulled his cloak tightly around his body and studied the stars to determine his direction. If it was up to him, he would travel until he had reached the Black Sea. He did not know what people ruled there now, but there would be civilization. And after having spend almost a millennium with Kronos, Caspian and Silas, not really the most cultivated people he had ever met, he was ready to abandon nomad live and settle somewhere nice.

And somewhere where he could forget. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. The men he killed were not haunting him. It were the women and children that had wounded his soul. Their fear-filled eyes and the cries from the women when they got raped or witnessed their children die still hurt. It had just become too much. On an early morning he had taken a horse and left before Kronos would wake up and stop him. Because Methos knew one thing: Kronos would never let him leave. Never.

Methos knew he needed to stop soon, because his horse was exhausted. The animal needed rest and, most of all, water. So when he was on top of a hill and saw a small stream, he knew that was where he should camp. Everybody would, and Methos knew this all too well. He and his fellow horsemen had always used this knowledge to find "prey".

Halfway down he noticed he was not the only one intending to camp here: there was a fire. Methos decided he should greet the other traveler(s). It was a new experience, not attacking strangers but approaching them. Of course he had in old times, but those days were lying far in the past.

He had his sword in his hands before he consciously knew why: he sensed an immortal. He slowly continued his way, prepared for an attack. The adrenalin rushed through his body, ready to kill. He was painfully aware of the fact he was alone instead of with his fellow horsemen.

He reached the fire. A man sat there, his sword loosely balancing on his lap and a bow with arrows next to him. He wasn't the average guy you would meet here. He was tall, white and had blue eyes; definitely someone from Western or Northern Europe. But his half long hair, clothing, and overall appearance told Methos the man was just like him: a nomadic warrior. Maybe a Scythian.

Only now the other man looked up. 'Isn't it a wonderful night?' was his strange opening sentence.

Methos got off his horse so his animal could go to drink from the stream. 'To die you mean?'

The unknown immortal laughed. 'Well, that wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind.'

'One of us has to die,' Methos continued. They both knew how The Game worked.

The other man got to his feet and stood in front of Methos, watching. 'You're sure you want to fight? Because you don't look too good.'

Who the hell did he think he was, talking to him like that? In a flash of anger, Methos raised his sword, up to the man's throat. 'Why wouldn't I be sure?'

'You're tired,' he answered, almost whispering. 'Tired of the fighting and killing.'

That was _so_ true.

'So you can try to kill me now, or decide you better go to sleep now.'

Sleeping in the company of an unknown immortal? Methos didn't think so. The other man must have seen it on his face, because he jumped back before Methos could push the sword through his throat. Immediately their swords made contact, both fighters tried to get an advantage before the other would realize what was happening.

They both failed.

It was a fight between two skilled warriors. Methos couldn't remember the last time his skills had been challenged like this. His adversary was skilled, fast, strong and had endurance. He was a worthy opponent.

Methos was getting tired; the fact he had traveled weeks nonstop now worked against him. The realization hit him hard. He might die tonight.

Suddenly Methos couldn't move anymore. He lost control of the muscles of his fingers, which resulted in the loss of his sword. His legs became numb and he fell to his knees. He felt the warm blood all over his body. Methos looked down, and saw the sword stuck in his chest. Now he had seen what was wrong, he also began to feel the pain.

So this was it then.

He looked up at the immortal that had defeated him, ready to look death in the face. Although it hurt now, Methos knew the worst would come when the man would pull his sword out.

It felt like all his organs were removed, and not very smoothly. Blood now also gushed through his mouth and nose. _Not really a nice death_, was Methos' last thought before everything turned black.


	5. Chapter Four

4)

MacLeod speedily entered the hotel lobby. The clerk looked at him with both professional curiosity and irritation. MacLeod realized that although he might not feel like being nice and polite, he should be exactly this if he wanted to get the information he desired instead of being kicked out by hotel security. This for the reason it was an exclusive hotel, they would not appreciate rude behavior.

'Can I help you?' the clerk asked politely, not showing any signs of the annoyance on his face a little earlier.

MacLeod smiled to appease him. 'I am looking for Michael de Wind. I was informed he is staying here.'

The young man looked at him questioningly. 'Is he one of the dentists?'

'Dentists?' The look MacLeod met told him he was supposed to know this.

'Our hotel is hosting the Annual International Conference of Dentists. They are using the whole hotel. So if the man you are looking for is staying here, he must be visiting this conference.'

Okay, so maybe De Wind was a dentist. 'He could be a dentist. All I know is he gave me this contact address.' This was of course not true, MacLeod was just checking all hotels. 'He is a Dutchman,' MacLeod offered.

The desk clerk seemed to think it was rather strange, but he did look into the computer. 'Yes, there is a Michael de Wind listed. But I don't know if…'

'Sheila?' A young woman was asked for help. 'Do you occasionally know Michael de Wind?'

The girl smiled. 'Oh yes, Dutchman right? He is here with a woman, although I haven't seen her in a while.'

A woman? MacLeod felt like he was struck by lightning. De Wind couldn't have been here _with_ Anne, could he? If he was, it just didn't make any sense.

'But he is having dinner in the dining hall,' the female hotel employee continued.

MacLeod was excited he had located the other immortal. But he knew the other man had not made it very hard for him to do so.

'Thank you,' MacLeod thanked them and calmly made his way to the dining hall. It was dinner time…

* * *

'That was the very pleasant story of how we met,' Methos finished his story. Joe had listened closely and had never interrupted him. Methos realized Joe would not understand it all, but he hoped the mortal man would realize he owed Menes. 

'He obviously didn't take your head,' Joe noted.

'No, he didn't.'

'Why not?'

Methos had rather not answered this question, but knew he had to because if not, Joe would confuse his situation with Richie's. 'He thought I needed help.'

'Did you?'

Joe was, completely understandable, curious about these days. Mortals always wanted stories about old times. Methos thought back to what he had been these days: an emotionally wreckage. He laughed wryly. 'I just came away from Kronos, so what do you expect?'

Joe seemed to be both shocked and understanding. 'Methos,' the bar owner finally spoke. 'What are you doing here?'

Methos thought of Menes and MacLeod. Both had helped him with the horsemen: Menes had helped him accept they were in his past, while MacLeod had permanently removed them from his life. He hoped they would both survive. The saddest thing of this whole situation was it was entirely his fault.

'Waiting.'

'Waiting for what!' Joe cried out. His facial expression slowly changed, he now realized what he was waiting for. 'Methos..'

Methos was glad Joe felt some sympathy, he was the only one. 'Pour me something stronger.'

* * *

He looked up, and was welcomed by the sight of a certain Highlander entering the dining hall. The man was no doubt here to disturb his evening meal. It was no surprise MacLeod had showed up, but the fact he was here now already showed he really wanted his head. Too bad. 

'Mister MacLeod,' he acknowledged his presence when he had arrived at his table. He took a bite of his delicious stake and gestured his visitor to have a seat.

MacLeod sat down reluctantly. A waiter immediately showed up with an extra wine glass. 'Do you wish to eat too?'

'No thank you,' MacLeod declined politely. The man did have good manners.

'Should I get you some more wine?' the server inquired. Menes smiled inwardly. He looked at MacLeod questioningly. The other man showed him he was not here to be nice company. And that was exactly why he would get a drink.

'Yes, that would be nice.'

'The same?'

'Please.'

Macleod was near to grinding his teeth, but he waited patiently for the waiter to return with the wine. When the waiter was finally gone, MacLeod surprised Menes by not speaking right away but to taste the wine first. If the man liked wine he would not be disappointed, it was one of the finest red wines of the last decade.

'Ninety-six?'

Well, the man evidently knew something about wine. 'Yes. It is good, isn't it?'

MacLeod nodded in agreement. 'And expensive.'

Menes shrugged. 'I must spend my money on something.' Under the watchful eye of MacLeod he drank some too. 'Let's not waste it and drink it before we get to business.' He was not worried about the effects of the wine; he had not drunk much and he had enough experience with alcohol to be able to stomach it.

MacLeod smiled coolly. 'I will grant you your last meal.'

Oh, how subtle. His honor did not allow him to let the other man get away with it like this that easily. 'How was yours?'

* * *

MacLeod made his way through the dark streets of Seacouver at a steady pace. He looked back every once in a while to see if Michael de Wind was still following him as well if he did not follow too closely. But De Wind kept the same pace as he did, thereby maintaining the distance between them. 

When MacLeod looked over his shoulder again, the Dutchman offered him a faint smile. 'I don't kill from behind, I have more honor than that.'

MacLeod halted for a few seconds so De Wind could catch up with him. Conversations like this shouldn't be loud, a mortal might hear. 'You might run,' he revealed his other concern.'

The other immortal shook his head calmly, MacLeod thought he almost seemed sad. 'I am not like Methos.'

Methos. MacLeod realized that until now he had not known if the Dutchman knew about who Methos really was. Apparently he did. The fact Methos had revealed his identity to this man meant he had trusted him with the information. 'So he told you.'

De Wind was now walking a little in front of him, far enough so MacLeod couldn't see his face. But he did get an answer.

'In the times we met, his name meant nothing yet.'

MacLeod became somewhat concerned, because the words indicated the man was old. Not that he couldn't handle old timers, he had successfully fought Caspian, Kronos and Methos himself, but the fact he had found it very difficult to deal with him at the dojo could mean this man was a formidable warrior who gained a lot of quickenings and thereby strength.

After walking in silence for a while, they reached the park MacLeod had intended as the destination. It was remote, lying between the large gardens of some very big villas. In here they would only been seen by people in the park itself of in these gardens, which was both very unlikely.

'I assume you planned to go over there?' De Wind asked, half rhetorically.

MacLeod answered by entering the park. It was not really dark because it was full moon, but MacLeod had been here many times before so he did not need the light to decide which trail to take. After rounding a duck pond they ended up by a large lawn surrounded by trees. Lit by the moonlight, it was an excellent location for a duel.

MacLeod took hold of his sword and dropped his coat to the ground. He walked on a little bit and turned around. De Wind approached him with his sword loosely in his right hand. It appeared as if he was just taking a stroll, no sign of any tension was visible.

He finally halted about five meters in front of MacLeod. Surprisingly he didn't take a firm hold of his Ivanhoe yet, but looked up at the sky. He spoke some words under his breath, in a language MacLeod did not understand or recognize. MacLeod assumed it was some kind of prayer.

Well, the man would need it.

Their battle began viciously. Apparently his opponent had by coincidence chosen the same tactic to begin with: strike hard and fast. This was probably the reason they both failed.

The swordfight continued the way their first battle had ended. They circled around each other, attempting to find an opening in the defense of the adversary. MacLeod tried to vary his movements; he attacked first slow, then fast, then he tried to disarm him and next he tried to stab him. Of course De Wind did the same.

MacLeod eventually found an opening when the other man for some reason lost balance. It was only a second, but that was long enough for MacLeod to stick his katana through De Wind's right forearm. The pain reflex made him drop his Ivanhoe. He also fell to his knees, one leg in a somewhat odd position behind his body. MacLeod realized his rival must have stepped in a hole and because of that lost his balance because he was stuck. Too bad for him, but MacLeod wouldn't let him get up again. Lost is lost, no matter how.

Michael de Wind immediately tried to pick his blade up again with his other hand, but MacLeod had anticipated this. He had already moved in, and now put his foot on the Dutchman's hand. He put all his weight on it, which caused the hand to break clearly hearable.

To complete his victory, MacLeod kicked away the Ivanhoe out of reach and put his katana on the throat of his defeated opponent. De Wind sat on his knees and breathed heavily. MacLeod looked him in his eyes. During his life he had seen fear, anger, hatred, despair and acceptance in the eyes of the immortals he had overpowered, and he had seen these emotions in all combinations. These eyes just held acceptance.

MacLeod raised his sword to take the head.

'Do me a favor,' Michael de Wind suddenly spoke. He didn't scream or anything like that, but had spoken with a normal voice. MacLeod halted his sword midway, allowing him to speak.

'Tell Methos I don't blame him.'

_Tell Methos I don't blame him?_ MacLeod had no idea what this was supposed to mean, or why he had asked this. He would never get the answer, so why bother? 'Blame him for what?'

De Wind swallowed loudly. 'For choosing you instead of me.'

'Methos chose _me_!'

MacLeod had not intended to say anything, but De Wind's words had made all his anger towards Methos come out at once. Now he just wanted answers. To show the other man he was serious, he pushed his katana against his throat, forcing him to bend backwards into a painful position. But De Wind couldn't back up any further, so the katana cut into his skin. A small trail of blood dripped down his throat, into his collar.

'If not he would have told you.'

'Told me what!' MacLeod spit out heatedly. He increased the pressure on his weapon, deepening the cut. In fact he was beheading him, but slowly enough to allow the Dutchman to give him a few more answers. If De Wind would believe he still had a chance to survive, he might answer more readily.

De Wind opened his mouth, but suddenly seemed to realize something which made him close his mouth again without speaking. 'Forget it,' he finally managed to say, gasping in pain. 'Could you _please_ do it faster!'

This was an unusual request. But MacLeod was not about to grant it. This because he had seen fear on the man's face. This while he had never shown any sign he was afraid of his upcoming death. No, he had been afraid for someone else. And there was only one possibility.

'You are protecting Methos,' MacLeod stated. The fact De Wind did not deny it told the Highlander this was a correct assumption. 'What are you protecting him from?'

The Dutchman laughed out loud, almost unrestrained. 'Use your brains if you have any!'

MacLeod did. And when he finally realized what the kneeling man must have meant, he lifted his sword and struck hard in frustration.

* * *

Methos was still sitting at the bar. He had not left his position for hours and had not been interesting in anything happening around him. Even when Joe had been on stage he had not paid attention. Joe had never seen this with Methos, who had always been able to hide his feelings and thoughts. But not tonight. 

When Joe had no clients to serve anymore, he checked on the old man. He had his eyes half closed and stared at his empty glass. Joe had no idea how many alcoholic drinks he had consumed, but Joe knew it would be sufficient for a considerable hangover.

Several minutes later Methos suddenly became alert. He did not turn around to look, but his head shot up. Joe knew what this meant: an approaching immortal.

The immortal was MacLeod. Methos still didn't look, is if he didn't want to know yet. Joe almost felt guilty towards Methos, but he was relieved the Highlander had returned.

'Hey Mac,' Joe greeted his friend casually, meanwhile informing Methos who had arrived. Joe decided not to ask anything about De Wind yet to spare Methos. This if anything happened, because Joe couldn't detect if MacLeod had suffered a quickening. If he did, it must have been a couple of hours ago. 'Scotch?'

MacLeod nodded and took the stool next to Methos. 'Why not.'

His voice had held some menace, which Methos had detected too. He carefully watched MacLeod as if he considered him a great threat.

Joe handed MacLeod his drink, who instantly took a swallow of the liquid. Then he faced Methos, his face blank. Too blank. To Joe it appeared as if he tried to hide his anger.

'You killed Anne.'

What! Joe couldn't believe what MacLeod had just said and was about to tell him, but stopped when he saw Methos' face. The old man did not deny it, but looked straight back at MacLeod. It was as if Methos was now relieved of an enormous burden. 'Yes, I did.'

'Why didn't you tell me?' MacLeod asked, sounding almost sad. Joe wondered if it was a rhetorical question or if MacLeod really did not have an idea.

Methos shook his head in amazement. 'Have you seen yourself lately?'

The anger flashed in Mac's eyes again. He refused to answer though, but stared at Methos.

'I had no idea how you would react after…..' Methos paused and swallowed. '….after Kronos.'

'So you let me go after an innocent man, a friend of yours?' MacLeod asked unbelievingly. 'Nice friend you are!'

Methos was in defense. But he wasn't afraid to do so, not anymore. Joe wished he had stood up earlier, than a lot of problems between them could have been prevented.

'I didn't know he would show up,' Methos spoke. 'Besides, he can take care of himself.' Methos paused and stared at his glass. 'At least I thought so…'

His voice trembled and he looked miserable. It was clear he felt guilty, extremely guilty. MacLeod noticed too, but he wasn't about to leave Methos alone. It was like he would try to get advantage of this.

'I've got one question left.'

Methos looked up. He would probably be glad when MacLeod would finally leave him alone. 'You challenged her?'

Methos stared at him unbelievingly. 'Of course not!'

'And that case you didn't run very hard,' MacLeod said skeptically.

_Blame me again_, was the meaning Joe gave the Methos' facial expression. 'Ever tried to outrun a bullet?'

MacLeod obviously had no clue, and neither had Joe. 'What are you talking about?' Joe asked.

Methos groaned. 'I ran into her a few blocks from here. She wanted to fight me, I refused. She shot me, put me in her trunk and drove me to a remote location.'

MacLeod shook his head, not believing him. Or not wanting to believe him. 'She _shot_ you?'

'Yes.' Methos looked at MacLeod, and immediately added: 'But she did give me my sword back.' Joe thought it was touching, Methos tried to make MacLeod feel better even though he had never tried to do the same for him.

'And you used it,' MacLeod said flatly.

Methos nodded unenthusiastically. 'Yeah. Like it is done for centuries.'

Joe poured himself a shot of tequila and gave MacLeod and Methos a refill. They were silent for a while, sipping their drinks. It was almost peaceful now, but Joe knew this couldn't last long because there was still one thing unsettled. Menes.

Eventually the delicate subject matter was brought up by Methos. 'Did you find him?'

MacLeod nodded. 'Yeah, I found him.'

There was something in his voice that made Joe believe this was not all, that there was more to tell. 'Did you take his head?' Joe posed the question Methos didn't dare to ask.

MacLeod shook his head. 'No.' He paused and then rephrased. 'Well, I guess I did it to a certain extent.'

'So you did win?' Joe asked, now in Watcher mode.

'Yep.' MacLeod emptied his glass. 'He was good, but not invincible.'

'But he is still alive?' Methos inquired, soundinga bit hopeful..

MacLeod checked his watch. 'He probably is now again.' Joe began to wonder what a "beheading to a certain extent" really meant. Apparently it had done a lot of damage.

Methos was relieved, although Joe could find very little evidence of it. But he was curious about something. 'Why did you let him live?'

'Because he let Richie live.' Earlier he hadn't cared about that, so this couldn't explain everything. MacLeod seemingly realized this too, because he continued. 'I had discovered he was in Seacouver _with_ Anne. And unintentionally he made me realize he was protecting you.'

Methos shook his head. 'But he didn't know.'

'I assume he did do his math.' MacLeod said. He faced Joe. 'When he came to you as a Watcher, did you by any chance discuss who it could have been?'

Joe could easily recall their conversation. 'Yes we did. I told him there was no one who should be considered.'

'He knew it wasn't Richie, because they were together at that time,' Methos thought out loud. 'And I told him you were after him, so it wouldn't make sense if you did it yourself.'

'So the only one left was you,' Joe concluded.

Methos drained his glass at once. 'If I keep going like this, I will be dead this decade!'


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

'Michael!' Methos shouted for the third time. He had just in time remembered to use Menes' modern name. He hoped his friend would recognize his voice and open the door.

Just when Methos was about to give up the door to the hotel room was opened. Menes stood in the door opening, looking like hell. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, both crumpled. This compared with the fact his hair was a mess led Methos to the conclusion his old friend had been sleeping in these clothes.

'What do you want?' Menes asked. He sounded pretty worn out.

'Just checking on you,' Methos answered as nonchalantly as possible. Sensing Menes was not really up for this, which could mean he would shut him out, Methos pushed Menes out of his way and let himself in. 'How are you feeling?'

Menes closed the door and dropped himself on the bed, the place Methos assumed he had been before he had shown up. 'Like someone is rhythmically hitting on my head with a sledgehammer.'

From experience Methos knew it was unusual an immortal was still in pain hours after he had suffered a death. He also knew the pain was not all physical. His ego was severely damaged. 'What did he do?'

Menes closed his eyes and groaned softly. 'Severed the upper half of my head from the rest of my body.'

Ouch, that came awfully close to decapitation. Methos sat down on the bed and gently touched the arm of his friend. 'You will be fine.'

Menes snorted, something that was unusual and certainly odd considering the topic they were discussing. When Menes finally looked at him again, Methos was taken aback by the look in his eyes. 'Really?' The sarcasm and anger went straight through Methos' soul. His friend was angry with him, and not just a bit.

'Menes…'

'Get out.' He had said it flatly, but undoubtedly meant it. Methos was unwanted here now. He knew it was partly the fact Menes was weak and vulnerable now, but this was not everything. Menes felt betrayed.

'But what…,' Methos tried one more time, but he got interrupted immediately again.

'Get out.'

Methos knew when to leave, and now was definitely one of those moments. If he kept pushing him, he might face a swordfight. Not that he really had to fear for his life now, Menes was not really able to fight, but there was no way he would want to fight his old friend. 'Okay.' He got up and put his hands in the air, showing he was serious. 'When do you leave Seacouver?'

'As soon as possible,' Menes growled.

Methos sighed. He wanted to talk with his old comrade, but it looked like this had to wait till they would meet again. When or where that would be was unknown.

* * *

_The story ended up to be a lot shorter than originally intended. I might continue, but becauseI don't have time for it now soI don't if I'll actually do it, I thought it was best to end the story here and continue in a sequal._


End file.
